The Crock Family Motto
by thisgirlcalledD
Summary: At this moment, he drowns himself in thoughts of how maybe, she grew up to be a better Crock than he ever was.


Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice. If I did, I would've had Artemis meet Jason and/or Damian already! (And cast Jason as Robin instead of Tim, because really, when do we ever get to see Jason as Robin? & Under the Red Hood doesn't count.)

* * *

"_Daddy._"

Lawrence stops short and turns to look at his daughter. Her face is tight and pained, like she's holding back tears.

"Why're you-?" He begins to raise his voice, until he notices his hand wrapped around hers in a death grip, both their hands white from the pressure. He looks to her again and sighs. In his silent rage he'd forgotten that he had blindly taken ahold of her hand and dragged her with him.

"Sorry, baby girl." He says, letting go.

"It's okay…" She whispers, rubbing her hand carefully.

He takes a look around, not sure of where he was heading to in the first place – he just knew that he needed to get out of that _suffocating_ house, _away_ from all of his broken memories. They're in a park, which is weird, because he didn't even know there was a park anywhere near their grimy neighborhood.

"She used to take me to this park…"

Lawrence hears her whisper – every little noise her hears seems to have intensified ever since Paula left. "What?"

Artemis looks up at him, startled that he even heard that (which is understandable because lately her daddy's been acting as if she doesn't even exist). "I… I said _she_ used to take me here. Mom. Jade, too. Sometimes."

She notices the slight cringe her father makes and immediately regrets what she said. "B-b-but ever since she left Jade took to a new park in town. You know, the one by Gotham North?"

"No." Her father says, looking blankly at the ground, "I don't."

Why would he? He's never home – never with his family. He spends all his time away on gigs, getting his hands dirty so Paula won't have to ever again. He thinks he's doing the right thing, too, because when he _does_ come home and he sees the loving smiles all his girls give him (Except Jade. She just gives him a knowing look), he knows that it's all worth it.

Until his muddled grey world comes crashing down on him, and he realizes that in the end, it was really all for _nothing_.

Lawrence is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice the way her daughter's shoulders sag in pitiable defeat. Until she notices the vacant swings and grabs his hand, the sudden force almost making him trip.

"Artemis?"

She pushes him down on the swings hard, harder than Lawrence thinks a girl her age is capable of. (It unconsciously peaks his interest.)

"Daddy!" She says, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips, like she's about to lecture him. "What's the matter with you?"

"Excuse me?" He says, slightly taken aback by her boldness.

"You're a Crock, aren't you? So why are you acting so… so _weak_?" She takes his stunned silence as notions to go on. "When Mommy left and I was sitting on the couch crying, do you remember what you told me? You said, 'Grab a napkin and wipe those tears, baby girl. Do you know what the Crock family motto is? When life gives you hell, return it with smile. Anybody can drown under the pressure, but only a Crock can swim to the surface. A Crock can always find a way back up.' So Daddy, if you're drowning, don't be afraid to use me as your life vest."

For the first time in his life, Lawrence Crock has no words. No sharp comeback. No scathing remark. He just looks at this girl, his baby girl, and can't believe it. After all he's put her through (He's aware of it. He's always been aware of it.), he can't believe that this pint-sized squirt is giving him a lecture about life. About _his_ life.

_She's just like her mother._

With a start, he realizes that it's true. She may have his hair and his nose, but everything else is her mother. Her eyes. Her smile. _Her spirit_.

He surprises them both when he pulls her into a hug.

_This is awkward_, Artemis thinks. Her dad has never hugged her before. He's patted her on the back before, rubbed her head a few times, but he's _never_ hugged her before.

"_Artemis_…" She instantly tenses when he says her name. She's heard it before of course, but never _this way_. She thinks it's almost _loving_. "Thanks, baby girl."

When he squeezes her, Artemis finally relaxes. She doesn't know when or how soon this might happen again, and though it's awkward, she doesn't really mind it.

In fact, she wishes it would happen more often.

* * *

"C'mon! Is that all you got?!"

"Ugh!"

The last target is sent flying. Lawrence Crock takes a step back and looks at his teenage daughter's work. The concrete walls are covered with oil and scorch marks, and the floor is littered with the dismantled limbs and random body parts of the proto-type robots a "friend" of his sent. "Not bad."

Artemis is panting and covered in sweat, her training uniform tattered. Today's exercise was particularly difficult (that's a total understatement), and she would like nothing better than to take a shower and rest. But she knows it's not over yet – not until she at least tries to hurt her father's hulking form.

"But still not good enough."

And just like that, they're fighting again. Well, her father's fighting. Artemis is using the last of her energy to evade of his attacks. To get as far away from him as soon as possible.

"C'mon, baby girl! At this rate you'll drown out there!"

A part of Artemis is completely okay with that, to be honest. Ever since her Dad started taking her on his mission and she'd seen what she had to do for her – for them – to survive, she's been okay with it.

But the more dominant part of her, the part that doesn't want to lose - just wants to get the hell away from him, isn't.

She aware that she only has one arrow left, and that he's probably going to fake her out and then go for her throat. The chances are slim, but she decides that if she's going to end this, she'll end it with a bang. She reaches for an arrow, and strings it, letting it fly towards its intended target. When it passes his head by a millimeter Lawrence just smirks and rushes towards her. But suddenly he's slipping and sliding and ends up on the ground, and before he can get his footing Artemis is on him, a knife at his throat.

A grin cracks on his wet face. "Quick thinking, kid." She begins to smirk, but in a second she's on the ground under him, her own knife at her throat. "Unfortunately, you're thinking wasn't all that well thought out."

He leans down, and a cold chill runs down her spine as he whispers in her ear, "You still wanna be my life vest, kid? 'Cause from my point of view, you need one more than I do."

* * *

"**You're a disgrace**!"

Artemis keeps her bow and arrow trained on him; even though she knows that the team's trap his foolproof and there's no way he can escape, he's proved her wrong plenty of times before.

"I knew I should've had Jade dispose of you when I had chance! She's more of a Crock than you ever were!"

"That's not true." She says. The self-assured tone in her voice grates on Lawrence's last nerve.

"What?" He asks through gritted teeth.

She looks at him then, eyes like an open book. Disgust, hatred, shame – it's all there. But none of those matter to him – not anymore. What matters to him is the flash of pity in her eyes when she speaks. "All my life, I was taught to do bad – taught I was born to _be_ bad. Hatred and self-pity and hell. That was life, to me. But I… I turned my life around. Instead of using what you taught me to do bad, _I did good_. And I was _happy… _What I'm trying to say is this; when life gave me hell, I returned it with a smile. I could've drowned and never washed up, but instead I swam my way to the surface. I could've ran; I could've left just like everyone _else_ did. But I didn't. Because a Crock always finds a way back up. That's what you taught me, Dad."

* * *

A single tear drops from the eyes of Lawrence Crock as he's being hauled away. He doesn't know where he's going, but at this moment, he doesn't care. At this moment, he drowns himself in thoughts of how _maybe_, she grew up to be a better Crock than he ever was.

* * *

After re-reading this, I might've written Artemis as a bit oc-ish. Sorry. (I'm taking this especially hard since am an Artemis-enthusiast). But thank you for reading this :) I've been really hard on myself this past year with my writing, and I think it's time that I finally start again. Wish me luck! (Oh, and don't forget to R&R. & maybe favorite.)


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